The Merest of Ghosts
by Moon Fever
Summary: A little story that just has me experimenting with style and language. Tis about Harry and his 'visitors' in the early hours of the day, this also concerns Neville and Ron. Simple. Please review with Constructive Criticism!


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Disclaimer: Hello, *waves* Well, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and No Warner Bros. either. Please don't sue, this is just fun for me. ^_^

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Author's Notes: Really, I'm just trying out a new style of writing, just testing descriptive work etc. So there's no guarantee they'll be a sequel or even a decent plot line. In full honesty, this is just a experiment. Any Constructive Criticism will be taken gratefully, also please remember I only used this 'plot line' as a test so please just comment on my style and tone of writing. Though, any suggestions for the path of this story will be also taken gratefully. Thank you.

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As the Merest of Ghosts Observe

"The Scent of Lily"

Our little boy, scarred and idolised. Every morning, at this time I watch him, though he is not aware. 

"Harry? You awake?" A red haired boy called, oblivious to my presence. Harry mumbled a word of morning greeting and lazily sat up, he raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed. Seemingly so much like his father. Harry yawned, much like a cat, stretching his pale arms high in the air and revealing his thin, lean stature. A flash of ivory belly is shown as his striped pyjamas are rumpled as he stretched.

Oh how I yearned to touch him, and maybe pat his stomach as any mother would. 

"Yeah, Ron. I'm awake now" The boy strained his lean fingers through his inordinate ebony hair. He grimaced slightly as his fingers tugged against a knot.

'_Like father like son eh?_' A voice beside me cooed, I nodded. Indeed, like father like son. I continued to watch him as I've done for so many years. Though the sadness I've encountered has not yet ebbed away.

A rosy faced boy familiar to my dead eyes snorted in the next bed. His light brown hair was ruffled and it was only now, in the early morning he was unperturbed by the nightmares that interrupted his dream flow. Sometimes I believe his parents are worse off then James and I. They're locked in their own heads and disintegrating bodies, unable to react to the feeble words from their own son. Although, we're unable to do the same...at least we're free of pain.

'_Watch..._' The deep, warm voice instructed, I nodded and returned my attention to Harry. 

Harry yawned again, though not as widely. He swung his lanky legs over his bed and sighed.

Was he sighing for us? Maybe. One can hope.

Harry rubbed his eyes again and slipped his slender feet into dusty blue slippers, fleece. I remember wrapping Harry into a fleece blanket, and I still can feel the texture of the material, so soft and homely. Much like our little family before the Dark Lord reached us.

"Are you up yet Harry?" A lively voice called, belonging to none other then Arthur and Molly Weasley's youngest son, Ronald. Harry nodded, though that action seemed pointless as heavy bed curtains covered his view to the rest of the dormitory. Harry walked carefully, scuffing his slippers slightly as he reached the opening on the heavy drapes. Through the slivered gap, the rosy faced boy could be seen snoring through pouted lips. 

Harry drew the curtains, I could almost feel the wind of it hit my face. James gripped my arm, at least I could feel him, even if I could not see him. It was the little things that made me miss the world of the living, though, the complexity of emotions felt in life has not dwindled it is touch. Perceiving things of material substance, such as wind, rushed air, breath.

"You hear Neville last night?" Harry said quietly, drawing the curtains back to reveal the red haired lad. Ron nodded solemnly. "Must have been a bad one"

Poor boy, his screams and whimpers would have even bought my hair on end in life. '_Poor Neville' _I murmured, feeling instinctively James nodding in agreement.

'_Indeed_' He replied. I felt James shift slightly, and then slip. Maybe he fell, but how can a ghost fall? The merest of ghosts at that. We no longer even possessed a visible self, as in other ghosts and other, more solid ghosts didn't notice us either. We were nothing but thought, free thought running through the frequency saturated skies. It was only in these mornings that we had enough strength to gather ourselves, as feeble as it may sound. 

Suddenly I felt Harry's vivid green eyes jerk towards where James and I were, I looked behind us but saw, with a sigh of relief, that he was only looking at his glasses. Or was he? His eyes seared into me...unnervingly, making me feel unruffled. Like a deer caught in the head lights. Obviously James felt the same, judging from the sound of a gasp. Really, just a quick wisp of sound. Nothing more. Nothing less.

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'Can he see?' James asked, I wait, if breath ran through me at this moment it would have surely been baited. Harry outstretched his right arm, as if testing the air. James and I shifted, for cold air would surely indicate our presence. We had to avoid Harry's touch, as painful as it seemed. Harry clawed the air, eyes narrowed, fingers curved.

"Yeah, heard him alright. I had half a mind to go see Professor McGonagall about him..." Ron said unexpectantly, Harry snapped his head to Ron's voice and his arm relaxed.

'_Lily, we must go..._' James urged, I nodded and gave one last lingering glance at my son. Good bye Harry, see you tomorrow morning.


End file.
